


To Look Good Naked

by emmaliza



Category: Take That (Band)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Implicit Slut-Shaming, Implied/Referenced Weight Shaming, Nudity, Out of Order, Self-Esteem Issues, Sexuality, kind of a glorified ficlet collection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-25
Updated: 2019-09-25
Packaged: 2020-10-28 01:45:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20770484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmaliza/pseuds/emmaliza
Summary: Take That have always been known for taking their clothes off.





	To Look Good Naked

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from "Bodies", by Robbie.

“Stupid.”

Howard pokes his head into the dressing room, where Mark has already half-gotten his costume off – they're practised at that – but is now taking a moment to stare in the mirror miserably. “You right, mate?” he asks. They've all been checking up on Mark near-constantly ever since Rob left. They all know he's devastated. Howard thought he'd been better lately, but you know, their first tour without him, that was always going to be hard.

Mark looks up, surprised he's being listened to, and flashes that usual winning grin. “Hm? Oh yeah, I'm fine.” Jacket already hanging from his shoulders, he throws it to the floor, and starts taking off his trousers. “Just need to get dressed.”

They don't have time for this, but: “You sure?”

Mark stops again, eyeing his next costume, a barely-there white tank top more like underwear than clothes. “Maybe Rob's right,” he mutters, wearing a horrible grimace that doesn't match his sweet face. “What sort of slut goes out for thousands wearing nothing just because he's told to?”

And Howard looks down to what he's wearing, his gold lamé shorts straight out of Rocky Horror. He's always been the body of the band.

It takes Mark a second to realise. “What, How, I didn't mean–”

“It's fine.” Howard shrugs it off, already shedding what little clothes he's got. “Come on, we've got to be back on soon.”

* * *

In hindsight, Rob played it all right. He didn't mean to, but still. He had no right to go out and have a solo career, but now he's a fucking superstar, because he was very, very clever.

He played just right off Gary, he supposes. Gaz was always an uptight cunt, it was easy to be the anti-him, the poor abused underdog, screwed up with drink and drugs, but only because Gaz was such a twat he had to be. He made people root for him, cheer him on, and when he won, _they_ won.

And he was sexy. Not sexy the way they all used to be, prancing about in leather and jelly (all to Nigel's liking), but sexy in a man's way. A butch way. He was reckless and wild and dangerous, the sort who'd get you high and knock you up, but you'd enjoy it. He had every girl he could get his hands on; he was in Take That and four of the five Spice Girls (he never actually fucked any of them, not even the one he dated, but nevermind) – Gaz could never be that.

Everyone still thought he was gay, but you can't have everything.

Robbie sighs, looking out from his LA balcony. If he did everything right, why isn't he fucking happier?

* * *

“Enjoy your trip?”

Part of Gary's brain is still in Orlando, soaking up the summer sun. “Yeah?” Robbie is looking at him suspiciously, but he can't for the life of him say why.

“Nigel must like you a lot,” Rob adds, tapping his foot against the floor. “Taking you on holidays. Rest of us don't get that.”

Gary feels embarrassed, for reasons he cannot articulate. “He could hardly afford five extra tickets,” he says, although frankly, he has no idea what Nigel can and cannot afford. “And he wants to get the best out of me.”

“Oh, I bet.” Gary frowns. He feels like he's being accused of something, but he isn't sure what. “I'd be careful if I were you. Don't want him to get the wrong idea...”

“Would you mind your own business?!” he snaps, and Rob jumps. “I've been working while I was away. I hope you lot can say the same.”

Rob doesn't know what he's on about. There's nothing strange between him and Nigel. Nothing.

* * *

Jason meets him in an anonymous little coffee shop, bearded, wearing a dark coat, hat and glasses, still trying to hide from the world. Gary remembers that feeling.

They make small talk, discussing relationships and children – Gary's, mostly. Jason hasn't found anyone in years. “I mean, there are people who would be up for something casual, but I'm not really interested in that. I want to make a relationship last.”

“Bloody ex-Mormon,” Gary mutters, although Jason's been an ex-Mormon as long as he's known him, and he never used to be like that. “I thought I was meant to be the prude of the band?”

“I think _I'm_ a prude for the right reasons,” Jason says, smiling, “whereas you seem to have a great time posting pictures of yourself half-naked on Instagram when you feel alright about your body.”

Gary blushes. Alright, Jay's got him there. Still, given how much shit the press has given him for his weight over the years, and what he looks like now, he thinks he deserves credit for ever wearing clothes at all.

“Don't pretend you have ever used Instagram.”

Jason laughs, and there's a pause. “It's just, I can't do it again,” he says. “Be put on display, looked at like that. It still makes me feel used.”

“So, you're not coming back?” Jason shakes his head. It's not like Gary's surprised, but he sighs. “You know we still want you.”

“I know, but it's not that easy.”


End file.
